


The End of A Witcher

by A_I_H



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 69, A Bath - Freeform, A Mountain Hike, A Mummy, Anal Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Ghosts and Beasts, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23478685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_I_H/pseuds/A_I_H
Summary: This fandom is set several years after the end of Season 1. Ciri and Yennefer are history and play no part in this story. Geralt loathes his mutant life and looks for a way to emancipate himself from being a witcher, when a magical – and intriguingly attractive – creature crosses his path and turns his life upside down.This story is based on the Netflix show „The Witcher“. I did not read the books nor play any of the video games. I know only very little of this fantasy world. Basically, I just wanted to toy a bit with this sexy witcher.Also, there is a challenge for those who like to draw in chapter 5.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Ghosts

_Sick_ _and_ _tired_ , that’s what he was. With thick, oily streams of black blood running down his face and arms, Geralt got to his feet and climbed out of the remaining parts of the kikimora, which he had finally slain and beheaded. The creature reeked of hell and death, Geralt’s stomach wasn’t as strong as it used to be and the stench extracted this evening’s poor village pub goop and beer from his body. Curses accompanied his staggering walk towards Roach, who was waiting trustfully a little further from the scene of slaughter. With weakening limbs, Geralt stowed away the dripping monster parts, mounted his mare and left this godforsaken swamp.

These days, Geralt’s usual calm and acceptance of the ways of this wicked world were dwindling with nauseating speed. Exchanging kikimora corpses for the occasional gold coin, roaming the lost and forsaken places of this kingdom to fight various monsters, and feeling restless and rootless nearly all the time just wouldn’t do any more. He had seen too much, done too much, known too much to savour any kind of trust in humanity, let alone magical creatures. It had to end. He was so tired of carrying this burden, of enduring this lot. He had given everything, all his power, his time, his chances of a normal life, his hopes for living in peace. But for what point and purpose? Humans had always shared the planet with magical beasts and monsters, why was it up to _him_ to protect them all? So that they could have their unperturbed small village family paradises? And the occasional pleasant excitement? The countless efforts he’d made to keep the monsters at bay and protect magical creatures from human greed were never, not once met with the gratitude and relief that he deserved. Everyone took witchers for granted. _Oi, you! Witcher! Go on. Cut ‘is ‘ead off, will ye now? It’s yer bloody job, innit?_

Oh yes, bloody it was indeed. Sinister clouds drifted through Geralt’s mind as he reached a clearing in the Dark Forest. This part of the forest was said to be home to certain ghosts, spirits of deceased witchers who had ultimately lost their final fight with a malicious beast and who had been buried here nameless by pitying yet superstitious villagers. The ground felt familiar and the earth seemed to call upon him, seemed to be persuading him to lay down, to rest his tired body, to let go. Which he gladly did. Without a care for potential dangers and too tired to erect a makeshift sleeping shed or even to start a fire, Geralt allowed himself to slump down onto the mossy ground and he swiftly drifted into a deep, uncomfortable slumber.

His dreams were vivid and wild. The night seemed to stretch beyond its natural time, and it engulfed him entirely with its eerie dream magic. In his dream, Geralt was fighting endlessly, one creature after the other, heads and limbs flew through the air, bones lay scattered around him, a thick trail of blood followed his steps. No matter how many monsters he killed, more seemed to appear out of nowhere. People in the distance crying for help, panicking, imploring him to save their lives. But he couldn’t reach them. Exhaustion slowed down his movements and reactions, while the monsters grew in number. They seemed to laugh at him, seemed to know he wouldn’t make it, seemed to will him to accept his mortality. No magic potion would help him now, no silver sword. It had come down to a futile fist fight, which Geralt was quickly losing. Horrible, screeching and roaring sounds accompanied the creatures’ attack. They piled up above his struggling body. As he stared up into fierce eyes and drooling maws, the creatures pierced his flesh with their thorns, blade-like legs and fangs. Geralt’s mind went blank with pain.

The pain had somehow turned into white light. Blinded by rays of an unnaturally bright sun, Geralt could slowly but surely see that the monsters had disappeared. He could make out human figures in the distance. They seemed to summon him. His body miraculously carried no wounds and let him get up and wander towards the mysterious crowd, which seemed to have been watching him fight and lose his final battle. As he drew nearer, he recognised men who looked dishevelled, dirty even. Some were missing a leg or an arm, all of them featured impressive scars. Geralt mistrusted his vision, because the men’s appearance seemed to oscillate between human and skeleton. If he stared at one character long enough, sure enough their features would change from living to dead and vice versa. Also, their bodies were hovering above the ground. And each one of them was staring at him.

“Geralt of Rivia.” One of the ghosts had finally spoken. “What in all the gods’ names brings you here? You ain’t dead yet, are ya?”

“I’m not sure. Are _you_?” Not afraid of speaking to ghosts, Geralt stepped up to the strange spirit, who had addressed him.

“You bet, son.” The ghost seemed to snort, and rearranged its appearance from corpse to man. Geralt had seen shapeshifters before, but this felt more like a massive hangover.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“Volkart Hammerhand, at your service. And this is the Dark Forest, if I recall.” The ghost grinned a horrible rottenteeth grin.

“Hammerhand? As in Hellhound Hammerhand?!” Geralt asked incredulously.

“Same one,” Volkart Hammerhand’s ghost replied with no small amount of pride.

“So, the tale of the witcher’s cemetery is true…”

“You’re awfully quick noticing things, aren’t ya?” Hammerhand’s apparition shared a throaty, haunting laugh with the other ghosts. Geralt took a few worried steps backwards and tried to assess his situation. If he wasn’t dead, then why was he speaking to the deceased?

“So ‘ow’s the witchin’ business these days, ey? Any kikimoras left to slay? ‘ow much are they payin’ ya?” Hammerhand appeared to be genuinely interested.

“Nothing like it used to be, I guess. Why am I here?”

“Oh, it was no piece o’ cake in my day, neither. Mind you, I ’ad to slaughter a wee dragon _for_ a piece of cake. ‘ow the ‘ell should I know why you’re ‘ere?!”

“Well, then, why are _you_ here, Volkart Hammerhand?You, who managed to kill a hellhound but then tragically died fighting a bruxa in the queen’s service over in Cintra? Or so the story goes…”

“People just don’t know where to dispose of such nasty things as dead witchers’ bodies, y’see? They probably heard the rumours and tales about this one forsaken spot in the Dark Forest. And ‘ere we are, all assembled.”

Geralt swallowed hard as he looked around the ghostly gathering of killed witchers. There were maybe fifteen or twenty of them. None of them seemed to have died of old age. This place was depressing, and it was getting to him.

“You seem unsettled, son. Look on the bright side. When your day comes, and it will, rest assured, you’ll have great company.” Again, some of the ghosts joined Volkart’s unnerving laughter.

Anger and despair sent sparks of self-hatred through Geralt’s veins. He felt his heart thump harder. Oh, how he loathed his life and his destiny. If not even death held any consolation, then why carry on at all? Scorn and resentment built up in his gut, his brain hurt. Clenching his fists and flexing his muscles to contain the threatening roar of rancour he said darkly: “Fuck.”

“Come again?”

“I’M FUCKED,” Geralt yelled back. “I wasn’t even supposed to become a bloody witcher, they just made me.”

“Good grief, stop pouting, will ya? No one here _chose_ to be a witcher, ain’t that right, gentlemen?”

Collective ghost mumbling expressed general agreement.

“I did,” a former-witcher-now-corpse chirped.

“Oh shut up, you!” Volkart silenced the impertinent ghost and turned back to Geralt. “But by whatever foul trick we became witchers, it’s a damn fine trade! It’s noble, it’s honest and it all comes down to ‘ow well ya know yer beasties. Every village needs a witcher, ya have yer pick, set yer terms, rule the people without ‘em even knowing it. Make ‘em pay ya like a king for slayin’ a nephromag ‘ere an’ an alp there. Great life that is.”

“That time has passed, let me tell you.” The memory of his last encounter with the village mob made him wince involuntarily.

“Well then, _stop_ bein’ a bloody witcher.”

“How so?” Geralt drew his eyebrows up in confusion.

“Well you go to see a rebirther, that’s ‘ow, silly!?!”

“A what?”

“A rebirth- Can you believe this guy?!” Clearly annoyed, Volkart threw his sinewy arms up in the air and turned to his deceased colleagues.

“Excuse me, I’ve never heard of such a thing or person.”

“Shows ‘ow much _you_ know, dunnit?”

“Please, Hammerhand, explain.” Geralt gritted his teeth.

“A rebirther is a rebirther, there ain’t nothin’ to explain. Go find one and stop whining, Geraldine. Let’s go, lads, this is gettin’ boring.”

With this, the ghosts started drifting away as well as fading.

“No, halt! Wait! Where do I find one? Where should I go? Hey!!” Geralt tried to run after them but the ghosts had dissolved themselves into an impermeable broth of a fog. He quickly lost his sense of direction in the white-grey matter, which had swallowed him. The mist felt cold and damp, it numbed his senses and made him tired. He kept staggering around and occasionally hitting rocks or trees, until he finally gave in and sat down on the moist ground. His eyes felt leaden, and the fog seemed to have filled his head as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intrigued so far? Kindly leave a comment. :-)  
> And read on... ;-)


	2. A Chance

The next thing Geralt knew, someone or something was prodding his leg. He awoke with a start and forced his eyes to focus on the figure which towered over him. The sun had already risen, and Geralt realized that he’d spent the entire night on the exact same spot where he had collapsed the night before. And everything else had been a dream… possibly the strangest dream he had ever had in his entire life. He sensed no immediate danger, but nonetheless hastily jumped to his feet to take in this … person?

“Thought you was dead, what with you lying there motionless and cold and all…” A woman’s voice. Strange voice, though, kind of dark and deep. It made the hairs on his arms stand up on end. The woman was dressed in several layers of ragged coats, underneath which she wore leather trousers and boots, as revealed by the foot that had done the prodding. She also wore a complicated sort of turban, which covered all of her head and face. Only the tiniest, thinnest slit between the bandages of her head allowed her eyes to peer out. It was impossible to tell their colour. “Well, good day then.” She turned to leave.

“Wait”, he stopped her briskly. “Who are you?”

“Me? Why do you wanna know?”

“Because, well, I don’t know, really. It seemed the right thing to say.”

“The intuitive guy, are you?”

“Cut it out. This happens to be a strange, magical place and meeting you right here right now might be some sort of sign or providence. Something important in the greater scheme of things,” he shrugged.

The woman had turned to him and had her hands on her hips.

“Intuitive _and_ egocentric? You think everything that happens revolves around you?” She spat the words more than she spoke them.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Why is everyone so vexing in this place?!” He hadn’t intended to say this out loud, but now it didn’t matter either way.

The woman looked around and back at him. “Who is everyone? Seems to me we’re all alone?”

“Never mind. Look, you wouldn’t by any chance know a … uhhh… rebirther?” Might as well give it a shot, he thought.

“A what?” The woman didn’t seem very friendly and was just as puzzled as he had been in his dream last night.

“Uhm, actually, I also don’t know what a rebirther _is_. I’ve been told to find one.”

“Who told you to?”

“Can’t say, really.”

“You don’t seem the type who does what people tell him to.” She sized him up and he felt uncomfortably transparent under her invisible stare.

“No, but this time, I think I do want to find this creature.”

“Well, good luck then. I must be going.” With that, she turned away again, collected her small cart which had been parked nearby, filled with large, heavy logs and several goat skin flasks, and made to leave.

“Damn”, Geralt cursed. “ROACH!”

“Excuuuse me?!” The woman turned around in anger.

“That’s my horse, I was calling my horse,” he mumbled, positively pissed by the way this morning presented itself.

“You have a horse? Why on earth would you sleep in the Dark Forest if your horse could take you straight home?!”

“There is no such place.”

Reliable as sunrise, Roach came trotting towards Geralt from behind a tree. She pressed her nose to Geralt’s face and the two of them shared a moment of peace and unity. The strange woman dropped her cart’s handle and used her gloved hands to softly pat the mane of the mare, who didn’t seem to mind.

“How so?”, she asked surprisingly softly.

“Roach is my home, ain’t that right, girl?” Horse and man looked each other in the eye in silent understanding.

“That’s sad and beautiful at the same time. Hey, what do want from this rebirther person anyway?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt grunted his typical low grunt. “He might help me with a problem I have. Sort of… heal me.”

“You’re looking for a healer? I know just the guy!”

“No, not a healer, not a normal one in any case.”

“What then?”

“Well, someone who specializes in magical problems.” Geralt was increasingly annoyed by this sudden nosey interest.

“Hhhuiiii,” she made a whistling sound. “Well, Mister, it just so happens that I also know just the right person for that kind of job,” the woman whispered conspiratorially.

“Please don’t mess with me. I’m messed up enough as it is.”

“You’re the one who didn’t believe in coincidence. Your choice,” the woman shrugged.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at this peculiar person and tried to understand what was happening.

“How do I know this person you’re talking about is a rebirther? You don’t even know what a rebirther is?!”

“You said you have a magical problem. This person, Namouk by name, knows how to help.”

“Look, I appreciate you’re trying to help. But I’m deep down in some serious shit. I’ve seen sorcerers, witches, elves, mages and even a djinn – the whole lot! None of them were able to help me get rid of my problem. I’m not going to waste time on seeing some ominous healer person I’ve never even heard of.” Anger spread through his insides again.

“Tell me about this problem of yours.” The woman seemed to study him once more.

“Why?”

“So, I can tell you whether Namouk will be able to help you.”

Geralt took a deep breath and decided that it couldn’t really make things worse if he told this stranger about his troubles.

“Well, the short version is, I’m a witcher and I want to quit my job. Permanently.”

The woman didn’t seem to be impressed or surprised by this. “A witcher, eh? That would explain the strange hair and nasty smell.”

Geralt fought the urge to sniff himself subconsciously. “Well,” she continued, “as I said, Namouk will have the solution for you. I’ll show you the way, if you do me a favour in return.”

 _Of course, not even dying is free in this world_ , Geralt thought. Out loud he said: “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Help me carry my stuff up the mountain.” She pointed towards her cart. “That’s the general direction of where Namouk resides, anyway. You’d get lost in the mountains without a guide.”

“That’s it? You’re just interested in horsepower?”

“Yup. That stuff is rather heavy but it ain’t no use going up and down the mountain to carry less loads. So, you might have a point with that greater-scheme-of-things-nonsense after all, eh?” She tried to poke Geralt’s shoulder, but he intuitively stepped out the way. This talking mummy had yet to prove whether she was trustworthy. “Besides, I might enjoy a bit of company.”

“How far is the ride?”

“Coupla days.”

Geralt considered this. He bit his lower lip and looked around, as if the trees could communicate their advice or a warning with their leaves. He’d just have to follow his intuition, which strangely told him to take this chance.


	3. The Path

The first hours of the journey they walked in silence behind one another, which Geralt appreciated. He still didn’t trust this woman, nor the situation altogether, but what other options did he have, really? The stranger led the way, Roach loyally pulled the cart behind them up the ever-growing hills of Mount Labyrr.

But inevitably, a game of questions and answers soon followed.

“What’s your name, by the by?”

“Geralt,” he rasped through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be such a grumpy cat, Geralt. Geralt… Not Geralt of Rivia by any chance?”

“What if? Would that change your decision?”

“No, I guess not. It’s just that a witcher with so big a name is kind of intimidating. Story goes you’re not one to hesitate when decapitation might solve your problem.”

“Stories can be a useful. They’re invisible armour.” Geralt smiled to himself. “What’s your name?”

“Some call me Mummy.” That prompted laughter from the witcher. Mummy turned around and made her head bandages scowl at Geralt.

“What’s so funny, eh?”

“Well, isn’t that a little obvious?” His hand waved at the layers of cloth and rags that were wrapped around this woman. She seemed annoyed and stayed silent for another hour of walking.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and Geralt asked: “So what’s with all the cloth and bandages? What do you hide under there?”

“Just myself, really.” She answered with a sad, tired voice. “My exterior is not what people generally call normal. I find it easier to get around looking like a pitiable beggar than looking like myself. No one takes notice of or wants to deal with ragged vagabonds.”

Geralt knew the feeling of being judged by his looks. He sympathized with his guide.

“Speaking of odd looks, what made your hair turn white? You can’t be much older than… thirty?”

Geralt huffed out a little laugh. “Witchers age very slowly. I’ve been around for many, many years. And the hair? I was poisoned so badly when I was made a witcher that my body lost all colour.”

“How’s that? A witcher’s not born a witcher?”

“No, that’s not how we’re made. For one, there are no females. And the males are incapable of reproduction., Witchers are made from stolen children or orphans, who are put through the ugliest and most painful procedure imaginable. Only few survive the horrid ritual. I’ve been told that the potions and the training I received were far stronger than they’d ever used before, turning me into this supernatural mutant with extraordinary power. And white hair.”

Mummy had been listening apprehensively. “It doesn’t take a shrink to see your bitterness. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.”

Geralt tried to gauge Mummy’s age but couldn’t make up his mind. Her demeanour and her mysteriousness made her seem like on old hag. Her voice had an ancient feel to it, but then again it just happened to be a deep woman’s voice. Judging by her ability to climb this rocky mountain without complaining, he guessed she couldn’t be much older than thirty herself.

They spent the night out in the open, on a flat terrace of Mount Labyrr. A small fire kept them warm, Mummy shared the little food that she had with her companion. During the night, some of her bandages slid a little bit and Geralt tried to see what lay beneath them, but despite the fire it was too dark to see anything.

“Why you wanna stop witchin’?” Mummy asked during the ascent up the mountain the next day.

Geralt exhaled deeply. “It’d take days to explain.”

“Ha, as it happens, we _do_ have a few days’ time on our hands,” Mummy chuckled.

Geralt shrugged and started to tell his story. He told of the separation from his parents. The physical and mental torture of becoming a witcher. The numerous hardships which followed. The countless monsters he’d slain. The many times he’d nearly been killed by monsters or humans. The ungrateful people who took his hard and life-threatening work for granted. The ever-repeating cycle of wars. Wars between kingdoms, wars between humans and mutants and other magical creatures. The impossibility of leading a life in peace, far away from everything. No matter where he went to hide, trouble would follow and find him. No matter how hard he tried staying out of it, destiny would suck him right into its heart.

“Dear gods, sound like a real bugger, your life.”

“Thanks.”

“But what about companions? Soul mates? Loved ones? Usually those help the desperate to get along with their lives. The way you look, I’m sure you’d have your pick of women?”

Geralt sighed. “Sorry for the disillusion, but believe me, I’ve tried them all. Princesses, enchantresses, goddesses, quite a few ordinary, good women – I’ve had them all.”

Mummy snarled and scolded: “Women aren’t a thing one can _have_. You can be with them, have feelings for them, make love with them, but you cannot try them on like a pair of shoes! Let alone possess them!”

“Forgive my wording. I just meant that companionship won’t work. Not as long as I can’t escape my profession.”

“How so?”

“Companions make me vulnerable.”

“But isn’t that a good thing? It means you have feelings, which frankly I believed to be impossible for a witcher. But then again, I suppose an emotional witcher would be useless in the face of danger?”

Geralt kept his mouth shut on this topic and wondered instead how much longer this mountain hike would get. “How far do we still have to go?”

“One or two days.”

“What on earth do you do living so high up the mountain?” Geralt wondered. He found it hard to believe that Mummy could have dragged her heavy cart up this hill all by herself.

“Live in peace and harmony,” replied Mummy, not without a tinge of sarcasm.

Geralt silently shook his head and trailed after this curious woman.

“What will you do if Namouk succeeds in freeing you from your burden.”

He had to admit he hadn’t thought about this eventuality. He had never actually come close to the reality of being a normal human. The prospect of becoming one made him feel strangely lost and giddy at the same time. “Ha, I can’t tell you, to be honest. I’ll probably trip over and fatally hit my head on some bloody rock. Or I’ll just find love and settle down.” They exchanged a sheepish look – if one could say that for bandages – and continued their ascent.

The path wound higher and higher, the climate grew colder, though the sun kept them warm during the days. Mummy led the way, turning left here, right there, even returning to points they’d already passed. At least, that’s what Geralt thought. But when he pointed it out to Mummy, she seemed certain enough of her trajectory and he followed her. The ground became more difficult to tread on and more than once Roach slipped and only narrowly caught her balance, nearly throwing over the cart. The two climbers ran out of food and had to rely on the vegetation and the occasional rabbit or bird. The air started growing thinner, as did the climbers’ resilience and vigilance.

At one point, weary from a long day of climbing the mountain in silence, Mummy tripped over and sprained her ankle. She insisted on staying on the ground for the night. Alone.

“But Roach could carry you,” Geralt pointed out. He had offered to examine her ankle, which she had refused vehemently.

“No, no, I’ll be ok, really. You just carry on, it’s not far from here, anyway. You’re almost there. Just keep going until you see a large rock shaped like … uuhh… certain ladies’ parts and turn left there. You’ll see the house.”

“What about you, where is your house?”

“It’s not that far, really. I’ll just rest for a while and hobble home. Thank you for bringing my stuff up here, it’d have taken so much longer without you two.” Mummy waved and leant back against a rock to rest. Geralt kept trying to persuade her to carry on with him, he even offered to carry her, but she wouldn’t budge. She even declined his offer to wait at her side during the upcoming night; instead she shooed him away.

Eventually, he lit a fire for her, untied the cart from Roach’s saddle and left her sitting there. Geralt carried on walking in the direction she had shown him. The circumstances which had brought him here, still puzzled him. How odd that he should meet this person, who claimed to know some sort of magical rebirther, just after he dreamt about needing to see one. And even stranger that she should take him all the way up this mountain, only in exchange for his horse carrying her goods. He wondered, what price the alleged healer, Namouk, would request. He cursed that this thought hadn’t occurred to him before, because if her price meant that he’d have to repeat his trek, first down and then back up the mountain, he’d be doomed. He’d never find the way by himself.

Dawn was slowly crawling over the hills and he hoped he’d find the house soon, so he and Roach wouldn’t need to rest in the dark, just a few hours away from their destination. The path was stony. Scree and little moving pebbles constantly changed the structure of the ground beneath their feet, making it nearly impossible for Roach to move forward for. Geralt led the way carefully testing each step with his own weight before guiding the horse along. With all of his attention focused on the ground, he nearly missed the peculiarly shaped rock which Mummy had mentioned. It certainly did look like … well…

Sudden growling snapped him out of his contemplation of the rock’s appearance. A foul stench hit his nostrils, and when a few pebbles started sliding behind him, he spun around, drawing his sword and - with experienced precision - sliced a werewolf’s head in two. Usually, werewolves started their hunt at night, not at dawn. Also, they never came alone. He apologized to Roach for leaving her and flew down the path he had come by, hoping they’d follow him and leave his loyal mare unharmed. Stones came flying from all directions, as Geralt jumped from one ledge to another and out of the creatures’ way. At least three of them followed him now as he tried to speed up. In the distance, he could see the small fire which he had lit for Mummy.

“MUMMY!!! Look out!!! Werewolves attacking!!!” he screamed in her direction. He prayed that he wouldn’t come too late. When he finally reached the narrow clearing where he had left her, he had no time to wonder where she had gone. The wolves caught up with him the second he reached the fire. With skilled, swift movements he fought them all at once. He knew their advantage lay in their number, so he waited for their combined attack. The three werewolves hurled themselves at him in unison, as if on command. Geralt in turn made one swift full circle with his sword at a steep angle. Three heads and a few claws were sent flying in different directions, followed by the rest of their bodies. Geralt stood still, covered in dark-red werewolf blood, heaving slightly and cursing under his breath. Appalled, he wiped the blood off his eyelids and looked around. The cart and Mummy herself were nowhere to be seen. Had she heard him and found a shelter just in time? He called her name, but nothing happened. Bewildered, he put out the fire and returned to Roach, who thankfully had remained unwounded.

Before darkness finally covered the summit of Mount Labyrr’s , Geralt found the house. Not a small hut, but a decent little wooden mountain lodge. There was light at the windows– at least someone was home. Hoping that no more werewolves roamed the region, Geralt left Roach standing near the lodge’s entrance – and next to a conveniently placed stack of hay – and knocked on the door.


	4. A Decision

The door was opened, but instead of entering, Geralt took a few steps back. The woman who had appeared in the doorframe was an extreme vision. He’d never seen anyone like her before. He guessed she couldn’t be older than in her mid-thirties. She wore a thin, transparent, white silk gown, which fell loosely over her body and revealed a lot of her skin. Her _pitch-black_ skin. Geralt had met people and magical creatures in shades of dark brown before, but none had been as black as ink. One could even say her skin had a certain bluish hue. Her curly hair was just as black and was woven into thin, knotty, hip-length plaits woven with silver and golden threads and adorned with turquoise beads. Ornamental armlets, rings, anklets decorated her body and naked feet. Her eyes were soft, their colour a warm glowing amber. The rest of her face seemed open and friendly, even attractive to Geralt, who was startled, however, when she opened her mouth: Sharp, pointy teeth and fangs revealed themselves as she spoke.

“Welcome, Geralt of Rivia.” Her voice was soft, warm, deep and… somewhat familiar. He squinted and tried to imagine her shape covered in coats and bandages. Could it be?

“Mummy?” He asked tentatively.

“You may call me Namouk.” She held out her hand. Uncertain whether to shake or to kiss it he bowed slightly instead.

“Come inside, you must be starving.” She waved at him and turned elegantly to move inside the house.

Geralt had the distinct feeling that something was very weird in this place and entreated: “Please, lady, stop playing games. Are you Mummy? Did you put that hay outside for Roach? How did you get up here so fast?”

With a friendly gesture Namouk directed Geralt into the house and to a table, which had been set with a simple but nutritious meal and a pitcher of water as well as a pint of cool beer. She sat down opposite of him and watched him hover hesitantly over the food. Yes, he was starving. But first he needed to know what was happening. Who was this being and what kind of creature was she?

“Eat, and I’ll explain.” She drew herself a glass of water and Geralt finally gave up resistance and heartily dug into the food, which was surprisingly delicious and satisfying.

“I needed to make sure you were worth my time and trouble,” she began. “That’s why I chose to accompany you to my place. Think of it as a journey of self-development and reassurance.”

Geralt thought about this for a long time. Now that he had finally reached his destination and found Namouk, it did seem strange that she had been with him the entire time.

“Granting your wish will take a great effort on my part. It is only fair that I get to know you and your motives and get to decide whether I want to help you or not,” she said, reading his thoughts.

“But why the disguise?” Geralt asked.

“I told you, people are generally… _irritated_ by my appearance. Also, I didn’t want to reveal my identity to you just yet. In case you’d turn out to be a faker.”

“In which case…?”

“I’d have guided you the wrong way and disappeared at some point.”

“Riiight…” This was too strange. “How did you find me though? There I am, _dreaming_ of a rebirther and _whupp_ – you appear out of nowhere? Usually it takes me ages to find what I’m looking for.”

“You don’t need to know everything. The important thing is that you are here now,” Namouk replied calmly.

“So, you really are this healer, a rebirther?”

“Do you doubt that?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to believe anymore.”

“Would I have gone to all that trouble just to inform you of a practical joke once you’d reached the mountain top?!”

Geralt shrugged. “Suppose not. But what do you get out of it? What is your price?”

“We’ll get to that later.”

“Hmm. What about all those questions you asked?”

“Getting to know each other before performing a life changing magical act won’t hurt anyone, will it? Besides, I told you: I needed to be sure of your motives.”

“And the path, then? We passed several points more than once. You just made it up.” Geralt fixed his eyes on hers.

“I had to buy some time and to see how far you would trust me.”

“What about the werewolves? If they were your friends, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Namouk looked at the dried blood on Geralt’s face and clothes. “Not my friends. They knew what they were getting into. I instructed them to scare you, unsettle you, to unleash the witcher.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see if you’d only save your own skin or if you’d come to my rescue.”

“One should never trust a woman’s sprained ankle…,” he mumbled self-consciously. He had finished his meal and, silently nodding, thanked her for it.

Putting away the dishes she said: “Now, we should get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow will be a tough day, if you’re still up for it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, perhaps your encounter with the werewolves made you realize that giving up the witcher’s powers is not what you want after all?”

Geralt swallowed hard at her direct words and the speed with which things were progressing. His wish to not be a witcher was as old as any he could remember. Nevertheless, he’d lived with the burden for most of his life. Would he even know how to be only a human? Most of the time his mutant powers had protected him. But now that he had had that dream, and Mummy… or Namouk had come along to give him the ultimate option of quitting his job… this life… forever… It all felt very sudden. Yet, a small voice inside him, a certain yearning, cleaved its way through his guts into his heart and lit a little, cosy light of hope. Hope that this would be his once in a lifetime chance to escape his destiny and forge a new life with his own hands. All it took was a decision.

Namouk had settled over by a large cushion which lay in front of the lodge’s fireplace. She rested her torso on the cushion and her head on her hand. Her hair fell over her back and her chest, barely covering her round, black breasts which, in this position, threatened to slip out of their silk gown. Geralt’s face remained as cold as stone as he sat down near the other end of the cushion, resting his back against a wooden pillar.

“You said it will be a tough day. Tell me more.”

“Well, you see, what a rebirther _does_ is suck all former life out of you and pump a fresh life back into your lifeless body. It’s a kind of cleansing, if you want. I take away all your bad spirits, all the poison you’ve tortured your body with. All the bad memories. All the nightmares. Your fears. Everything that turned the innocent boy you once were into the witcher you’ve become to this day.”

Geralt was impressed and sceptical at the same time. “How come no one knows about your existence? I bet many people or mutants would give their right arm for the privilege to change their past.”

“For one, I cannot change the past, but I will change your future. And secondly, this is not some wand waving, potion mixing, spell rhyming magic. Rebirthing is hard work. Like real, physical and mental labour. I won’t do it unless I have good reason to.”

Somehow, it all fit together. Mummy, as in Mama. The rock shaped like a V. Labour. Re _birth_.

“You’re not going to breastfeed me, are you?!”

“Ha, no, Geralt.” She laughed a velvet laugh. “That won’t be necessary. You’ll be you, same grown man as before, but without mutant powers.”

“Will I remember my old life?”

“Probably.”

“Wait, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?!” Geralt asked with a hint of panic in his voice.

“I have.”

He exhaled audibly. “So, what’s in it for you?”

Namouk smiled softly, which didn’t feel too comforting given that her sharp teeth were showing. “I get to do something good. And may receive some good in return.”

This answer made Geralt suspicious. He sat up and looked straight into Namouk’s amber eyes. “What do you want?”

Namouk sat up straight as well and stared back at her guest. “Only two things. One, you stay with me and watch over me for as long as it will take me to recover from your rebirth.”

“How long is that going to be?”

“Usually, just a couple of hours, but in your case maybe a day or two.”

Geralt wasn’t too happy about this. “Why do you need me for your recovery?”

Namouk looked upset and got up. She walked around the room and finally said: “I told you, a rebirth is as real and strenuous as childbirth, for both mother and … witcher. You will take time to heal and so will I. I will need protection, care and kindness. I refuse to do it if you leave me suffering from doing _you_ a favour.”

That to Geralt seemed feasible and even logical. He got up as well to stop Namouk from wandering around the room. “And two?”

She stopped a few inches away from him and brought her face close to his. A mild, intimate and sensual scent of wild roses and honey hit his senses. Her golden eyes locked with his. “Make love with me.”

Inwardly, Geralt rolled his eyes at this request. Why was this always happening to him?! Admittedly, her request could have been worse, much worse, but still… He tried to negotiate: “Uhmm, I must tell you I am not awfully good at such things.”

“I don’t care. No one ever visits here, and I leave the mountain only when necessary. I’m not the marrying kind, as you can imagine. A woman has her needs, though. And providing a little company in my bed in exchange for a new life doesn’t sound too bad, does it?”

“No strings attached? You do know I am not fertile.”

“That’s not what I’m after, Geralt. I need to feel _desired_ from time to time.” She looked at him earnestly. “Make me feel wanted, loved, so I can carry on with a little bit of dignity. I don’t want to just serve a function, I want to feel like a person, like myself. You of all people should understand me, White Wolf.”

He did. She did have a point. After all, she was some kind of mutant, too. What could gold and coins do, if you were all alone in this world? People treated her with so little respect that she had to hide her amazing body under rags. The least he could do was give her that respect. However, he still needed time to process all of this.

He stepped outside to get in touch with Roach. Would he lose the special connection with his mare after the rebirth? Should he throw away all those years and years of training and experience? He was almost certain that no other witcher on this continent could match his expertise and skill level. Would he be able to cope with what life would throw at him after the transformation? Well, millions of normal humans were able to cope with life, weren’t they? Geralt exchanged a deep look with Roach and finally made up his mind.

Back inside the lodge, Namouk had stripped off her jewellery and changed into an even shorter night gown, this one was golden. She led him towards a small basin and gestured towards the crust of blood on his face. “You might want to clean that off first.” She left him to get cleaned up and provided him with a fresh linen nightshirt. He felt utterly silly and ridiculous in this tunic, with his strong, sturdy legs protruding underneath. Feeling uneasy, he crawled into bed next to her, uncertain of their next moves. He opened his arms to her, and she snuggled up to his side, melting fully into his embrace. While Namouk drew soft circles with her fingertips on his chest, over his belly and down to his legs, Geralt tried to get a grip and concentrate on his task. But all the questions and worries regarding his pending transformation and the awkwardness of this entire situation left him lying there all rigid and tense.

“What’s the matter, Geralt?” Namouk asked, sensing his absentmindedness and hesitation.

“I am sorry, this is embarrassing.” Geralt covered his face with his large palm.

Namouk shifted slightly away from him and said softly: “No, no it’s not. This is a good sign. You know why?”

Still hiding his face, Geralt shook his head.

“It means you feel uncomfortable coupling like an animal, without connection or feelings. You may have been a witcher for a long, long time. But you still cling to the one thing that separates humans from witchers. Your feelings.”

“It’s not just that. I am scared,” he, who had never been scared of anything, whispered. “Scared of what I will become. Of the procedure. You said it will hurt?”

Namouk took a deep breath, turned her back to Geralt’s belly, laid his arm around her body, and answered: “Yes, my dear. It will hurt. Quite substantially so.”

Namouk told him a little more about the things that awaited him, before they both drifted off to sleep, with him only holding her, which seemed to suffice.


	5. Black, White and Ruby

When Geralt finally awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep, the sun had already reached its zenith. Namouk was moving about the house. He could smell food and perfume, the fireplace was crackling, also the sloshing sounds of water being carried through the room filled the air. His host appeared when she noticed he’d woken and made him eat a large, healthy breakfast and drink a bucket of water. “You’ll need it,” was all she said.

Namouk herself seemed to be in a cloudy mood. The ethereal aura still surrounded her, her elegant movements and gentleness persisted. Yet, she seemed uneasy, stern, and very focused on something, to say the least. When Geralt had finished his meal, she took him on a tour around the house, showed him all things he might need in the days to come. This confused him.

“Where will you be? You said I should wait at your side?”

“That’s right, honey. My body will be here. The rest, I don’t know.”

She touched his arm: “Are you ready?”

Breathing deeply, he nodded slowly. Namouk took his hand and led him into an adjacent, darkened room, which was lit by only a few candles. A large wooden bath barrel dominated the centre of the room. It was filled with hot, milky water. The steam transported the mild scents of lavender and camomile across the room. Two large, brass handles were attached to the barrel’s edge. A stack of drying cloths was neatly piled on a small board. Namouk gestured to a chair which stood in a corner of the room.

“Undress and get into the bath, please.” She turned around while he did so.

The bath felt wonderful. The warm water reached up to his ribcage. The temperature was just right and it was full of essences to relax his sore muscles and calm his grinding thoughts. The lavender scent soothed his nervousness. After all, he still wasn’t quite sure what awaited him. He suddenly remembered his horse.

“Roach! Is she alright? I haven’t checked on her.” He turned around in the bath and couldn’t make out Namouk’s black body in the darkness. But he heard her voice.

“Do not worry now, Geralt. Everything will be alright.” Namouk gently removed the witcher’s amulet from his neck. Being deprived of his amulet made him feel more naked than sitting undressed in a bath.

Geralt felt her step into the bath behind him. She was naked, too. He felt her soft, full breasts touch his back. Her hands smoothed his white hair and brushed it to his right. Then, she swept over the brass handles with both hands, which set off a humming sound and beautiful geometric patterns on the water’s surface. The vibration of the tub and the water sent a tingling, hypnotizing sensation up Geralt’s spine.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“Shhh, darling. Relax.” Namouk crossed her thighs above Geralt’s legs and guided her right hand along his back and then up his chest. It came to a halt once it had reached the witcher’s chin. She turned his face to hers and looked him in the eyes. She was beautiful in this light. Her long hair was wound up into a large bun, which sparkled with beads and pearls. He stared into her amber eyes and suddenly felt calmer and more at peace than he had felt in ages. Closing his eyes, he let his body relax into her embrace. He trusted her.

She turned his head to the right for a better access to the left side of his neck, into which she now dug her sharp, pointy teeth. Geralt winced at the sudden pain and let out a strained groan. Namouk held his head firmly in place, while she started sucking his blood. The red juice came shooting hot and fast out of the fresh wound. A little stream wound its way down over Geralt’s chest and into the water. They formed a poetic sight, the inky arms wrapped around the muscular, snow-white torso, which now featured single stripes of deep ruby. The blood spread in the milky water. The pain in Geralt’s neck was throbbing, he felt he couldn’t move his left arm. Breathing became increasingly difficult. He held on to the brass handle with his right hand, while his vision blurred, his brain hurt, and he heard his heart pounding in his ears. He fought the urge to defend himself and to attack Namouk, who kept relentlessly drinking his blood, keeping him firmly in place with her surprisingly strong arms and legs. He had endured worse pain before, but now he was rapidly losing his grip on life and consciousness. With a slowing rhythm, his heart tried to pump the remaining blood through his body and then… stopped.

Geralt’s hand fell from the handle into the water, his body hung lifelessly in Namouk’s arms. When she had drained the final drop of blood from him, she submerged his body completely, pulled him up again and pressed her pelvis into the small of his back. In a sudden attack, a knifelike sting drilled itself into his bone marrow. The most excruciating pain shot through Geralt’s body and set his heart pumping again. In fact, it started racing. Geralt jolted back to life and screamed in agony. He wanted to fight this thing off and escape the bath. He tried to move his legs, but Namouk’s thighs exerted an iron grip. He tried to reach behind his back, but in this position, it was impossible to defend himself. The thing in his back was pumping blood into his body, which made every cell, every muscle hurt relentlessly.

Namouk had been quiet up to this point, but now she started making small, anguished noises. While violent shocks rocked through Geralt’s body, she rocked with him, cradled him. Her mouth had left his neck and her head fell backwards, as she pumped the rest of his blood back into his body. Water sloshed around in the barrel, as the two fought to complete the ritual.

After what felt like ages - the water had almost cooled already, the shaking had subsided - Geralt slowly came to his senses. The pain in his hip bone had gone, as had the wounds on his neck and on the small of his back. He felt like he was recovering from a vicious flu or a long fight. His headache was gone, he could breathe normally again. His limbs felt light and he let his arms float in the now-rosy water. With a shallow groan, Namouk gained his attention. He turned around in the bath and found her draped motionlessly over its edge. Quickly, he got up and pulled her out. Her legs were shaking and kept giving way, so he carried her to the chair and started to dry both her body and his own. While he dressed, Namouk started humming in whining tunes. He spent a few moments trying to find his amulet but stopped the search when Namouk fell off the chair. He wrapped a towel around her and carried her over to the main room and her bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed worrying about her increasingly wild motions and painful cries. She had curled up and her hand rubbed the small of her back, while she wailed and winced. Soon after that, she covered the left side of her neck with her hand and stifled further cries of pain. While she writhed on the bed, Geralt couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to her. He had been convinced that the worst part of the transformation would happen to him. And him only.

But suddenly, Namouk let out a high-pitched shrieking sound. Her hands held the right side of her ribcage, and while she screamed, her eyeballs turned black. Just as his eyes used to when he activated his witcher’s powers. The sight was spectacular and frightening. The way she seemed to feel pain in her right side made him realize what was happening. She was _experiencing_ his life – or rather his near deaths – as a witcher, in reversed order. First the back, then the neck. The large scar below his right breast was the latest addition to the collection of battle memorabilia. A particularly tenacious bruxa had torn his flesh and almost torn him in half.

And now, this poor woman was experiencing all of his pain. Everything he’d ever gone through as a witcher. Why hadn’t she told him this? He would never have agreed, had he known what rebirthing him would entail for her. Memories started racing through his mind. Incidents with monsters, fights with mages, battles with humans. Each scar on his body – and there were a lot of them – told of a particular, hard to win battle which had left him wounded. Would she have to go through all of this? It seemed so. As Namouk’s body revisited each of the pains Geralt had suffered in his life, he relived all of his battles. All he could do was try to keep her from hurting herself. Her body moved as if possessed. She threw herself off the bed, onto the ground, against walls, slammed into furniture - if Geralt wasn’t fast enough to get things out of her way. From time to time she lay panting, sweating, suffocating, crying on the floor, before a new surge took hold of her body. Would she survive this torture?

Geralt felt so utterly sorry for putting her through this misery. He managed to dress her, but when he tried to feed her, to make her drink, she wouldn’t let him. She wasn’t herself, like she had predicted. _Her body would be there, but the rest_ … The first day went by without her touching any food or water, without sleep or rest, she just kept tumbling from one nightmare to the next. Geralt kept his promise and did not leave her side. He did not even look after Roach, because he feared Namouk would come to harm if he didn’t watch her every move.

Towards the end of the second day, he felt a wreck himself. Namouk’s body was still retracing the experiences he had made as a witcher. It had visibly lost weight and was now covered with bruises and cuts from where Geralt had not been alert enough to prevent Namouk from crashing into something. He had tried holding her down, restraining her on the bed and the ground, but that had made things worse. Invisible forces were hurling her across the room, pressing her down, attacking her with invisible swords and choking her with invisible claws.

The third day was the worst. Neither of them had slept or eaten anything. Namouk seemed to have reached Geralt’s youth. He remembered those days. The gashes and lesions he had sustained back then were deeper and more painful than anything that followed. He had been young and inexperienced. In battle, he had simply tried to survive by fighting the monsters with all his physical power, but without strategy or skill. It had been a close call more than once. And worst of all, he had been scared shitless. Namouk kept fainting now, constantly collapsing somewhere, drifting in and out of consciousness, sometimes not breathing at all. Yes, these had been Geralt’s first years as a witcher. His compassion for her grew with every minute.

Finally, she had reached a state where she sat in a corner of the room, hugging her knees tightly, rocking to and fro, staring stoically ahead. Tears kept running down her cheeks, small wails and sobs escaping her now and then. Geralt tried to hold her, to soothe her, but to no avail. And he knew why. No-one had been there for him when he had been separated from his mother. No-one had held him or cradled him, as he was being sent down to hell. No-one had held his hand as he was force-fed the bitter tinctures and potions which had killed most of what had been human inside him.

Something glistening caught his attention. A small stream of a black substance had started running from Namouk’s nose and eyes. “What’s this?!” he worried.

“Outside,” Namouk said with a hoarse, weak voice. He helped her to get up and out of the house. On a large flat stone, she collapsed onto her hands and knees and started retching her guts out. Geralt held her hair out of the way, as she vomited thick, gooey gushes of black poison onto the ground. It took more than half an hour to get it all out of her system. Her limbs were shaking from the strain. The inky puddle, which pooled on the ground, made sizzling noises and seared the stone’s surface. Utterly exhausted, Namouk let herself fall into Geralt’s arms and mumbled to him: “Burn it.” With that, she fainted again. He carried her to her bed, cleaned her up and waited for something to happen. When she hadn’t moved for over an hour, he assumed she was finally sleeping for the first time in three days.

Roach and Geralt stared into the fire as he burned the black substance as Namouk had told him to. Unlike normal fire, the flames changed colours in a quick succession. It would have been a spectacular sight, had Geralt not known this to be the source of all his suffering – and Namouk’s. This burning puddle was the essence of the evil that she had extracted from his body before she had pumped his cleansed blood back into his veins. And this was what had been torturing her these past three days. A sense of relief and lightness spread in Geralt’s mind and heart. Back inside the house, he laid down next to Namouk, held her close and drifted off to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge for those, who love to draw:  
> Who would like to draw the picture of Namouk and Geralt in the bath, the black, white and ruby scene? I'd be THRILLED to SEE it.


	6. Emotions

It was over. Physically, Geralt didn’t feel much different than he did before. His body had not changed at all. The white hair, the strong arms and legs, the plethora of scars on his skin, they all still existed. Also, he remembered everything about his past life as a witcher and especially the past few days. When he caught his sight in a mirror though, he noticed a change. The colour of his eyes had turned from golden to a light brown. Also, the sternness of his facial features had disappeared. He felt light-headed, carefree and optimistic. He even felt a certain urge to laugh, for no specific reason at all.

Just to make sure, he concentrated his mind on the table, extended his hands and tried to evoke a magic trick. Nothing happened. He tried it again with a chair and a mug – still nothing. He didn’t feel the magical powers surging through his body like he used to. He didn’t feel anything – except hungry. With his knowledge of the place, he put together a light meal and waited for Namouk to wake up and join him.

When she finally woke, she groaned and hissed loudly, complaining about her bruises and aching bones. Rushing to her side, Geralt said: “You crazy woman!”

She looked at him, half bewildered, half amused. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what ordeal you would have to endure by rebirthing me?!” he implored.

“I am so thirsty. Is that tea I can smell?” she replied, ignoring his question.

Smiling softly, Geralt helped her up and over to the table. They ate in silence, each of them paying careful attention to their respective bodies’ transformation. Namouk inspected her bruises and cuts, giving Geralt a scolding look every now and then, and he apologized with his eyes.

“I am so sorry you had to go through this.” He said finally, taking her hand in his.

“No, Geralt,” she answered, smiling gently, “I am so sorry _you_ had to go through this. Your life has been a single, endless stream of pain. Even after – how many days since the bath?”

“Three.”

“THREE?!” she shouted in surprise at this revelation. “Even after _three_ days, I am fed up with your previous life. I don’t even want to imagine living it longer than a week.” She squeezed his hand. “It is a good thing you came to me.”

“Still, had I known…”

“Shush. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to heal this body.” With that, she got up and undressed, before she disappeared into the adjacent room. When she reappeared with a cloth tied around her chest, most of her bruises seemed to have vanished. The ache seemed to have released her body and she could move with the same elegance and grace as she had before the ritual. Geralt noticed that her skin was dry and torn in some places.

“Come here.” He took her hand, led her to the bed and made her lie down on her belly. Then, he fetched a vial of rose oil, sat down at her side, carefully untied the cloth around her upper body and started spreading the soothing lotion on her back, neck and arms. When Namouk started making humming noises of approval, Geralt intensified his ministrations and put all his skill into the massage. He traced every soar muscle, soothed every knot and nurtured her beautiful skin with the sensual oil. Gently, he drew his hands down her arms and intertwined her fingers with his, to release the tension from her palms and wrists.

“Hmm, don’t ever stop,” Namouk hummed and lifted her foot up to nudge his shoulder. With a fresh helping of oil, he sat at the foot of the bed now, grabbed her feet and kneaded all the sensitive spots of her soles. When he reached her graceful ankles, a wave of heat washed over him and made him blush. A good thing that her face was turned towards her pillows, he thought. With great care, he worked his way up her calves, the hollows of her knees and the backs of her thighs. Namouk’s behind still lay hidden under the cloth, and – not wanting him to come to the end of his skilful massage – she wiggled it at him. Smiling, he placed his knees on each side of her thighs, slowly pushed his hands underneath the thin material and rubbed some oil onto the perfect globes of her arse. Namouk’s breathing had become shallower and Geralt sensed the shift of atmosphere and purpose of this situation. And he welcomed it.

Finally, his attention returned to her back, where he gave up resistance and trailed soft kisses along her spine, all the way up to her neck. His stubble tickled the satin skin behind her ear. “Turn around”, he whispered. Namouk smiled contentedly and turned around on the bed, exposing her full breasts and her bare belly, while the cloth still covered her hips. Geralt moved back down to her feet and gave them another thorough kneading with his warm hands. Then, he worked up the courage to spread more oil all along the top and insides of her thighs, all the way up to her hipbones. To reach her upper body, he moved to the head of the bed, sat on his calves behind Namouk’s head and gently caressed the skin of her shoulders, her arms, her ribcage and her belly. Her figure was so sensual and seductive, it was pure pleasure to run his hands along her curves. For some odd reason, his heart was pumping hard, although he had touched many women before. He had never felt self-conscious or hesitant with his lovers, but this was different. The urge to touch her breasts was almost overwhelming, yet he didn’t dare to cross that line. Yet.

Instead, he now focussed his attention on her face. With a few drops of the sweet and fragrant rose oil, Geralt drew soft circles with his fingers on Namouk’s face, and she seemed more than pleased. Her smile spread wide, she closed her eyes and let him study her features with his fingers. He smoothed the skin of her forehead, applied a soft, circular pressure on her temples, felt the shape of her eyebrows and nose, traced the shells of her ears, caressed her cheeks and chin. From this angle above her head, her upper lip had a fascinating, dramatic curve, which he traced with his index finger before he lay the thinnest layer of oil onto her full, fleshy lower lip.

There she lay before him, all oily and shiny, beaming with joy and anticipation. It filled his heart with fondness – another unfamiliar feeling – and he couldn’t help it, he had to kiss her. He bent down and carefully placed soft, innocent kisses on that persuasive lower lip of hers. A pleased, welcoming groan escaped Namouk’s throat, who encouraged the kiss by lifting her chin up and sucking on his lower lip as well. While these sweet, harmless kisses were exchanged, Geralt’s hands moved of their own accord and finally wandered down to Namouk’s beautiful breasts. He adored the way her large bosom filled his hands and how her nipples pebbled at the sensation. He felt the need to explore them with his tongue and left Namouk’s mouth to bend lower over her chest and suck at her hardened nipple. He was still kneeling at her head and now hovering over her, and Namouk opened the strings on his shirt and mirrored his actions. When he swirled his tongue around her sensitive buds, she did the same to his nipples. When he softly bit down on her breast, so did she on his.

He could have fondled her bosom for much, much longer, but like a magnet he felt a strong pull towards her core. So, he moved further down, tickling her belly with his stubble and pausing briefly to explore her belly button. Meanwhile, Namouk, now almost confronted with his groin, grew frustrated with his shirt and made him take it off. In turn, Geralt removed the remaining piece of cloth from her hip and now had a full view and access to her most intimate parts. The scent of her arousal was mesmerizing and drew his mouth between her legs like a moth to the flame. Until now, Namouk’s hands had toyed with Geralt’s hair, but now she needed them to open his pants and free his straining erection from its prison.

She set her hands firmly on his arse, while she sucked him into her mouth – skilfully avoiding her sharp teeth to touch his sensitive flesh. The sensation was divine. The deep groan he let out as Namouk took him in made her shiver in response, because he had already licked his way through her deliciously dampened folds and found her sweet spot. Geralt let his tongue and lips dance around her clit, eliciting soft moans and impatient hip movements from the breathtaking woman beneath him. The feeling was tantalizing, it felt as though Geralt’s body and mind were experiencing sexual pleasure for the first time. Geralt felt a wider sense of awareness, of consciousness, as if all his senses had been sharpened or as if a grey veil had been lifted from his mind. It was all he could do to stop himself from thrusting down into her mouth. Instead, he grabbed her hips and rolled to the side and onto his back, flipping the situation upside down. Namouk kept caressing his tip, shaft and balls with her mouth, while he kept his face buried in her cunt. Greedily, he lapped up her juices and sped up his tongue swirls. Namouk started to lose focus on what she was doing and concentrated on her own pleasure instead. She lifted her head from his hips, adjusted her position on his face and rocked herself into ecstasy. With one hand, Geralt grabbed her breast, with the other he held on to her magnificent arse and pressed her pelvis down to him. When he pinched her nipple and sucked hard at her clit, she finally came undone and shouted words of release in a language he did not know. Namouk’s entire body was shaking, she was panting heavily and collapsed onto the bed beside him. He turned so that he could hold her and felt quite released and contented himself.

“Are you ok?” he asked, when Namouk’s breathing still hadn’t reached a normal rhythm and her heart still hadn’t returned from racing to pounding.

“That was unexpectedly intense,” she panted. “You told me you were no good at this.”

He had to admit that he was rather surprised by the intensity of his lust as well. Formerly, he had used sex to content his short-time partners or to release tension. He had never felt the urge to make it a craft or to explore its possibilities and intricacies. He had had to think practically. Spending the nights in brothels had kept him warm and fed, had offered entertainment in between long stretches of solitude and had kept him away from monsters – at least the non-human kind.

Drawing soft, lazy circles on her back, his hand came up to her head to play with her long, coal-black hair. He felt strangely happy and solemn, and very much at peace.

“All these things I’m feeling…”

“What’s it like?”

“Unusual. I did feel emotions before, but they were hidden, clouded, some of them inaccessible even.”

“Glad I could help,” Namouk chuckled sweetly.

Geralt sighed and looked at her. At this woman, who only mere hours before had suffered the worst pain he could imagine and extracted the venom which had turned him into an emotionless mutant.

“Was it the poison you extracted from former witchers which gave your skin this peculiar hue?”

Now it was Namouk’s turn to sigh. And nod.

“You are insanely beautiful; do you know that?” This earned him a passionate kiss from Namouk, which meant that they could meet only in his mouth, lest he cut his tongue on her sharp fangs.

 _Passion_. When had he last felt passion? Really _felt_ it? He hugged her tightly to him and fully dived into the kiss, relishing every second of it and interrupting it only briefly to come up for air. Namouk’s thick hair fell over them both like a black curtain and created an intimate cave of lust. Her hips started rocking and rubbing against his muscular thigh, reminding him of his own throbbing erection. They rolled around on the bed, nearly falling over the edge every now and again. No part was left out as they explored their bodies with all their senses. When Geralt felt he couldn’t last any longer, he threw Namouk onto her back, spread her wide open and begged for admittance.

“You do not want to go in there, honey,” she chuckled lovingly, reminding him of the sting that had come out of there somewhere and drilled itself into his hipbone.

“Arrgh, but I… I need to be inside you,” he spoke hoarsely. His cock was impossibly and almost painfully hard, draining all blood from his brain and reducing him to a sensitive, heavily loaded bomb.

Smiling fondly, Namouk turned around, propped herself up on her elbows and knees and wiggled her magnificent arse at him. He was thankful, but he knew he couldn’t plunge in there like an army ramming a fort’s gate. Breathing deeply, he laid his head between her shoulder blades and willed his cock to last just a little longer. He coated his fingers in her slickness and slowly started circling, then widening her. As her groans became lustful and louder with each added finger, he grew confident enough to actually take her this way.

He guided himself along her folds, covering his cock with her juices, and finally entered her body from behind. The friction was divine and the sight spectacular. He watched himself gliding in and out of her oily, shiny pitch-black body, where small beads of sweat reflected the light like little, far away stars in the night sky. It felt like he was fucking the universe. An exciting tingle started to climb up his spine and the pressure in his balls was unbearable. He sped up his thrusts, slamming her hips into his lap, pulling her hair and biting down on her shoulder. When he pinched her clit between his forefinger and thumb, she broke. He sent her flying over the edge and tumbled right with her into the abyss of blissfulness. Growling, he spent himself completely inside her, while his mind went blank. 


	7. Reborn

Roach neighed loudly. Geralt awoke with a start and looked around him. He lay in a forest, his body was covered with leaves. He felt confused and strangely carefree at the same time. Brushing leaves off his jacket, he got up and mounted his horse. In the distance, he could see a strangely clothed woman dragging a cart towards a mountain path. Slowly riding up to her, he asked: “Excuse me, Ma’am, where exactly are we?”

The woman, whose face was completely covered by bandages and rags, turned to him and seemed to stare at him for some time – actually, it was hard to tell where she was looking.

“Why do you need to know?” she asked finally in a deep voice.

“I seem to have lost track of where I was going. I just woke up in this forest.”

“And where do you want to go?”

He thought about this. He really didn’t know.

“If you could tell where we are, I could think about where I want to go.”

“What’s your name?” she asked, apparently ignoring all of his questions.

“Geralt.”

“Geralt who?”

“Only… Geralt… I… think,” he pondered. Was there a last name?

“Uhuhmm.” Did he detect a smile through her rags? “Well, _Geralt_ , you are on the border of the Dark forest and Mount Labyrr, both belong to the kingdom of Lyria. Turn north and you’ll reach Aedirn – but beware of the nephromags that live under the earth. Turn south and you’ll eventually reach Cintra. There, you should beware of kikimoras roaming the swamps. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be on my way.” With that, the strange woman turned and continued pulling her cart.

Geralt sat in his saddle, puzzled. He had never heard of these things before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please, do let me know how you liked this story. It is my first fanfiction EVER, you can imagine my nervousness. ;-)


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